


The Mists are Burning

by Wander Riordan (lferion)



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, SCA RPF, Society for Creative Anachronism RPF
Genre: Alliteration, Bard of the Mists, Fire, Firefighters, Gen, Greyhaven, Heroic deeds, Inspired by Real Events, Poetry, Wheel and Bob form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1992-09-12
Updated: 1992-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/Wander%20Riordan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of the Berkeley-Oakland hills fire, from an SCA perspective, in alliterative verse after the manner of Gawain and the Green Knight</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mists are Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for and first performed as my Masterwork at the Bard of the Mists competition in September of AS XXVII, being 1992 in common reckoning.
> 
> The fire occurred the previous year, October 1991.

     The mists are burning, burning,  
     The sun a bloody coin  
     From north and south come spearmen  
     In bitter battle join.  
     None can know the outcome,  
     The cost in lives and land,  
     In the darkened nooning,  
     How can Greyhaven stand?

I tell now the tale of the strong ones, the spearmen,  
Who fought gainst the foe and the fire that raged.  
Stout was their striving, long was their labor,  
No victory certain, and bitter the fray.

Day dawned in brightness, sweet were the breezes  
No sage warned of danger, no doom was foretold  
In rest and rejoicing on hill and in valley,  
All welcomed October's good harvest and cheer.  
But deep in the dales gleamed an eye of red ruin,  
a shard from the anvil of Weland ta'en flight-  
Trees as its torches, the spark blossomed baleful  
Till billowing banners of smoke stained the sky.  
Soon all the valley knew of the danger  
And fear ran as high as the furious flame:  
Summer had scorched the grass to gold tinder,  
And quicker than lightning were steadings consumed.

Swift came the spearmen, brisk to the battle  
Shining in noon-light, fair-faced and fell,  
Casting strong spearfloods gainst ramparts of ruin  
Wise to the weal and the forms of the foe.

High on those hills stand the halls of great heroes,  
Serendip stately and Greyhaven proud  
Hearths graced with gold and with richness of learning  
The Tower of Claremont the jewel of all.  
Brands bourne by wind-blasts send spark-children spreading,  
And great grows the glow and smoke smothers the sun.  
Ranged on the housetops young heroes stood vanguard  
Wetting the roofs against arrows of flame.  
"Flee!" cried the townsmen, "The terror o'er takes us  
None may stand fast gainst this furious fiend!"  
The lords of Greyhaven cried out in anger:  
"Who will defend then, our hearth and our hall?  
The spearmen are valiant, but narrow their numbers,  
No match for this banefire!" Spake than the Eorl:  
"The horn call cries loudly for aid in this hour,  
'Make haste to our succor, our hills we defend!'  
Summoned to slaughter, our comrades come quickly  
From Land's End and Hilltop, from valley and shore.  
Many the men the war-cry are heeding  
Lending their hands and their hearts to the fray.  
Here is no battle for huscarl-heroes,  
This striving for spearmen! Defend you your own.  
The great glaives and engines are gathering grimly,  
Hinder them not or destruction is sure!"

Obeying the Eorl, with anger abating,  
The young lords descended, still loath, from the height.  
Protection invoking from roof-tree to root-stone,  
Calling on Odhinn and Thor to take heed.  
Greyhaven's Lady, her household close gathered,  
Riches must winnow, that worth might be saved.  
Hunters and hounds are led leashed to the waggons,  
And carefully cradled are books, harps and swords.  
Moment by moment does danger march deadly  
Goods, gear and gold must be handled with haste  
Little indeed beyond lives now are looked for,  
And halting and heavy go wains from the hold.  
The perilous passage of hilltop and trackway  
Is made midst the press of near neighbors and kin:  
So much to abandon to fierce fire's feeding,  
Sorrow unceasing for treasures untold.  
All the great steadings of Claremont's green hillsides  
Left to their fortune, many to burn.

The foe roars, relentless, gaining and growing  
The spearmen strive stoutly, grim on the ground  
Bitter and balefull the sunlight strikes bloody  
Capricious and cruel the wind laughes in scorn  
Weary and weakened the warriors tremble,  
But onward they labor, to beat back the storm.

     The mists are burning, burning,  
     The sun a bloody coin  
     From north and south come spearmen  
     In ceaseless striving join.  
     None can know the outcome,  
     The cost in lives and land,  
     As sunset stains the hillside,  
     How can Greyhaven stand?

Iathus of Scara has come forth to offer  
The shelter of Markheim to Greyhaven kin  
Ties of both blood and of friendship must answer  
Such desperate need and this danger makes known.  
The folk of the flatlands have rallied to rescue  
Their cousins and kinsmen of heights dispossesed,  
The great gates of Markheim stand opened widely  
To Edwin Berserkr and young Ian the bold.  
Stout swords defended, the book-press bestowed,  
The hunters and hounds are both petted and praised,  
Alison, Lady, embraces Diana  
And harbored are harps within welcoming walls.  
Lives are assured here, the fury held distant,  
All must await now the end of the fray.

But word now comes warning of Serendip's peril:  
Where Therasia von Tux has been warding alone  
Calls now for comrades to aid her endeavor,  
And back to the battle go warriors bold,  
For Hilary, mistress of lore and of knowledge  
In distant domains as she travels this day  
Little can ken the destruction and danger  
That threatens her holdings, her hearth and her hall.  
Lord Waldt von Markheim, Iathus of Scara,  
The lord of Theresa of Rivendell fair,  
Valiant, venture once more the inferno,  
Set forth in foray, to Serendip's aid.  
Passing steep places where spearmen keep counsel,  
They gain the hard hillside midst deafening din.  
The fire, harsh, harrows the trees and the houses,  
But standing are Serendip's towers unscathed.  
Broad-beamed the door, but more doughty the Dane-men,  
More than proud portals their purpose would pierce;  
Now gathering gold, the rolls and the records,  
Rescued the riches the Steward holds dear.

Returning, arms laden, Iathus and Markheim  
Are greeted with gladness, though grey with smoke-grime.  
The ashes slow sifting is searing with sorrow:  
Many face fortune more fierce in the fray.  
The household of Hussey lies high on the hillside  
Nigh to Greyhaven's green gardens and walls.  
Brushed by the burning Lord Robert the Upright  
Took up the great spear his wife's sire laid by.  
Defying all danger, keeping close counsel,  
Pressed by the peril, but never dismayed,  
Lord Robert, unceasing, has kept clear his thane-hold,  
A hero of heroes, undaunted and bold.

     The mists are burning, burning,  
     The sun a bloody coin  
     From north and south come spearmen  
     And in night-long battle join.  
     None can know the outcome,  
     The cost in lives and land,  
     When dawn returns the daylight,  
     Will Greyhaven still stand?

Dark now the dales, dim in the twighlight.  
Black from the burning are hills that gleamed gold  
Nightfall, relentless, draining the daylight,  
Makes even the bravest ones blind in the strife.  
But still on the hillside the Tower of Claremont  
Shines white and unravaged midst ruin and spoil  
Spearmen spead onward, no least light avoiding  
Wielding white waters and weapons of war.  
Darkness brings dangers that dawn might hold distant,  
All outcomes uncertain, thoughout the high hills.  
Strong through the hours of starlight the spearmen  
Hammered at horror, as haunted men dreamed  
Or, watchfull and wakefull, held vigil with victims,  
Waiting for dawn to bring news of the fray.

The long night now ended, the terror o'ertaken  
The spearmen, victorious, cease the stern spray  
Grey-faced and grim, gaunt from their labors,  
Their spears bent and broken, so boldly they strove,  
The warriors, weary, bring news glad and grievous,  
The brunt of the battle is broken with dawn.  
Daylight displays the fell fire defeated,  
The deadly sun-shard is returned to the forge.  
The toll of the terror now may be taken:  
Twenty and Eight to number the slain.

Heroes uncounted have aided the armies  
Bending their backs to banish the bane:  
Lord Waldt von Markheim, &amp; Edwin Berserkr,  
Iathus of Scara, Young Ian the Bold:  
James the Undaunted, Lord Robert of Hussey,  
Eorls and Ealdormen, Spearmen and thanes.  
The list is yet longer than my tongue may tell it  
But deeds do remain where the names be untold.

     The mists are burning, burning  
     The sun a bloody coin  
     From north and south come Spearmen  
     In victorious battle join.  
     Grievous is the outcome,  
     Great cost in lives and lands,  
     But Serendip has seen the dawn,  
     And Greyhaven still stands!


End file.
